


performance review

by orphan_account



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Bastard Elias, Best Boy Martin, Do Not Archive (The Magnus Archives), Gen, Humiliation, Non-Consensual, Power Dynamics, Watersports, Wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:27:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21569902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “Consider this an official reprimand from your supervisor.”“I’m considering it sexual harassment if you don’t let mego.”
Relationships: Tim Stoker & Elias Bouchard, Tim Stoker & Martin Blackwood
Comments: 3
Kudos: 71





	performance review

**Author's Note:**

> heed the tags. what is this even. it's non-con wetting is what it is. insert the biggest godawful sigh here

If the Entities didn’t kill him, he was damn well sure that the job was going to. And… he didn’t care. Told them as much. He was getting out one way or the other, and bonus taking as many of the  _ things _ haunting their daily lives out as possible when he went.

Still. Organizing these case files was doing a  _ number _ on his back. He was starting to feel like Jon, all the times Tim had made fun of him for the old-man noises of standing and sitting and bending over to collect case and files and recorders. Making fun of the gray in Jon’s hair… well, he didn’t tease him anymore, and Tim was the one taking on all the menial tasks that meant  _ not _ actively feeding The Eye, so. Organizing. Backaches. Twice now he’d cut his hand open on an exposed nail. Was this how he’d die? A freak case of tetanus?

Maybe it was  _ punishment, _ the random stuff. But otherwise, God, Tim was only thirty and felt like he’d lived a goddamn lifetime. Lived a goddamn lifetime here, actually. In all its misery.

He scrubbed his hand against the pull in his back, straightening up.  _ God. _ Right, fuck this, he was taking a break. Wasn’t like anyone knew where he was anyway.

_ Elias does, _ something nagged at the back of his head.

He stuck up his middle finger to nothing, and everything, and strode back to his desk. Lunch. He thought he’d go to the pub.

“On assignment, Tim?”

“Something like that.” 

Not that he wouldn’t  _ say _ he’d taken a three hour lunch, but this was  _ Rosie, _ and he still wasn’t certain how much everyone outside of the archives knew. They all looked at him like he was crazy when he tried to warn them, so he’d stopped trying to. He didn’t care much about his own mental image these days, but he also had had a soft spot for their erstwhile receptionist.

Maybe she just couldn’t quit, either. Who knew. He didn’t.

“Any luck?” she asked, and he nodded.

Luck insofar as spending the last three in the pub, eating a frankly alarming amount of chips sans fish and drinking the usual; alcohol hadn’t been a coping mechanism for some time, but, well, he guessed supernatural bullshit did that to a person. He didn’t care.

“It was fun,” he allowed, and bounced on the balls of his feet as he waited for the lift. Fun… as much as that was, these days. He barely knew that, either.

“I’m glad!” Rosie chirped, and Tim glanced over his shoulder to catch her bright smile. A spark of light. “You all in the archives seem like you’ve been so stressed lately. Sometimes I don’t see Jon leave, and even poor Martin seems like the wind’s left his sails a bit. Ever since he’d been living here…”

_ If only you knew. _

Tim was glad she probably didn’t. He hoped she never had to.

The lift doors rattled open, and Tim tried not to rush in. Christ, he had to piss. Probably, he could have used the toilets on the main level, but he had his coat, and wanted to ditch his leftover halibut in the break room. He was going downstairs, anyway. Besides, the staff restrooms were nicer.

“We’ve been busy,” he said, lacklustre as hell. He didn’t have it in him to say they’d get a break soon, or something like that. False reassurances. He didn’t believe them.

“Well, Builder’s Arms is a good de-stress,” she said, looking at his impromptu takeaway. “We should all go after work sometime, again.”

“Yeah.” Tim managed a smile and let go of the doors. “We should. See you later, Rosie.”

“Have a good afternoon!”

The doors closed, and he immediately set to tapping a staccato out with his toes. Should have gone before leaving the pub, or gotten a cab back. But the walk through the cool, damp air served to chase the vague press of the best stout away and  _ probably _ hadn’t helped the urge to take a leak. But oh well. His price to pay.

He tossed his coat onto his desk and booked it to the break room. Martin nearly startled him when he straightened up from the vending machine, bag of crisps in hand.

“Oh, hey, Tim.”

“Hi,” he said breathlessly, going to toss the carton in the fridge.  _ They _ were used to him being short, at least. And hey, he had a legitimate excuse this time.

“Where’d you go?”

“Pub.”

“Oooh. I forgot my card, for lunch, so, heh, crisps it is.”

Any  _ other _ time, he would have taken the opportunity to slack off further; split his leftovers with Martin and pretend like they were all okay. And he still might. But  _ right now– _

“Bummer. Sorry, talk in a bit,” he explained without explaining, and left Martin stammering some agreement into the emptiness between them. He’d make it up to him in a bit. Probably.

Jon’s office door was closed, which meant he was probably recording statements. Just as well. Out of sight, out of mind. Like it was that easy, Tim thought, and rolled his eyes as he ducked around the corner to the bathroom.

“Tim.”

He yanked to a halt, whipping around to glare at the voice. (And  _ Jeeesus, _ the redistribution of pressure that came with quick movements was  _ bad.) _ Elias stood by, looking vaguely…  _ interested, _ like he always did, in a way that made Tim want to punch the smugness right off his face. Oh, he did  _ not _ want to deal with him right now.

“Come to spy up front now?” he snapped. “Sorry, very uneventful day. Think  _ Jon’s _ recording statements, though. Might want to see what kind of sustenance you can ream outta him today.”

Elias just smiled, like it was a… pleasant suggestion or something. “I’m more interested in you, at the moment, as it were.”

“Well, that’s great,” Tim retorted, returning to his intention of getting to the goddamn toilet before he pissed in the hall. “But I’m going to have a piss, and then, you know,  _ really _ busy schedule. I might just not find the time, so–”

Somehow, despite himself, he very  _ nearly _ had a stroke when Elias followed him into the bathroom.

“Oookay,” he muttered, “I know you get off on  _ Watching, _ but can’t you do it from, you know, your  _ office? _ Like  _ usual?” _ He fumbled with his belt. He didn’t care about an audience; it wasn’t  _ ideal _ but he wasn’t  _ Jon  _ and all bladder shy. (Christ, he almost hated that he knew that, now. The few times he’d been able to tease him on it, waiting outside the bathroom on Tim to finish up, with various amounts of blushing and looking strained simultaneously. God, teasing was a reminder of a life they’d  _ never  _ had.) “Unless you–”

He hadn’t even gotten leather through buckle when Elias  _ grabbed his hand. _ The move was so  _ sudden _ that Tim just let him do it, and kind of gaped and grappled with his control as Elias coerced him back a step, and then two, and three– until his back hit the partition of the stall, and Tim sucked in a breath like he was coming up for air.

_ “Elias!” _ Oh Christ, he had to go. “What the  _ fuck–” _

“I thought it time we had a talk about your behaviour, Tim.”

_ “My  _ behaviour??  _ Who’s pinned against the wall?” _ he snarled, struggling against Elias’s grip at his wrists. When did  _ he _ get so strong? He was–  _ little. _ Not like Jon, or Sa–– but compared to Tim?  _ Yeah. _ Everyone was, except  _ Martin, _ and he didn’t even know if Martin  _ could _ hold him in place. (But probably, yeah. He’d thought about it before.)  _ Fuck. _

“Consider this an official reprimand from your supervisor.”

“I’m considering it sexual harassment if you don’t let me  _ go.” _

“Seeing as how neither of us are going anywhere in the near future, you’d do better to make it easy on yourself,” Elias said, effortless in pinning both of Tim’s hands to stainless steel with only one of his. “Quiet down, Tim, and listen.”

“Fuck– fuck  _ you.” _

“Quaint. Now, about your performance at work–”

Elias was talking, and Tim  _ wasn’t _ listening. Some rattling on about poor job performance, snide remarks in paperwork and case files,  _ extended lunch breaks–  _ shit, he couldn’t have focussed on it if his life depended on it. Maybe it did, but he had his pride to worry about first, and if Elias didn’t stop  _ talking _ in the next thirty seconds, he was probably going to piss all over the both of them, given how  _ goddamn close _ Elias was crowded in.

_ That’s probably the point,  _ the little voice in the back of his head said, and that coincided almost directly with Elias’s free hand hovering featherlight at his abdomen. For a moment, his mind reasserted itself with the fact that his dumb thought was pointing to  _ true– _ that Elias knew– of course he goddamn knew, Tim’d told him as much, but he’d  _ Known, _ that was why he’d been  _ waiting– _ that this was a power play, and he was going to  _ lose. _

“Don’t.”

“You’re not listening, Tim.” Two fingertips pressed against his bladder, not even– not even real  _ pressure, _ but it was so much already and he jerked back against the stall, cold at his wrist and burning in his gut and at his eyes. Fuck. “I go out of my way–”

“To  _ trap _ me–”

“To teach you a lesson,” Elias continued calmly, “seeing as how you’re so intent on  _ not _ performing up to task.”

“You realize this  _ isn’t _ going to make me try  _ any  _ harder,” he spat, and then stilled at the five points of– of  _ touch, _ just Elias’s fingers, there, waiting, feeling out the fullness stretched too taut beneath his skin. “If you do this–”

“I  _ really _ don’t think you’re in any position to make threats.” He pressed down, ever so slightly, and Tim nearly went cross-eyed from the  _ agony; _ white-hot sensations of actual,  _ horrible fucking agony, _ and a slow dribble of warmth and wet that had him pressing his thighs together, nearly doubled over from the pain of it before realizing that put his head too close to Elias’s shoulder. He jerked back upright, smacking his head too hard against the partition, and it was shocking enough in its own right of vague dizziness, and another hopelessly tiny trickle of piss escaping him. “Do you?” Elias continued softly, and Tim might have glared if he thought opening his eyes would do anything except let the tears of exertion fall.

He wasn’t sure if he wanted to scream or cry, but  _ neither _ were going to help him at this point. Nothing was.

“What. do. you.  _ want,” _ he managed, from behind clenched teeth. It was the closest thing to speech he was going to manage without bursting. Breathing too hard would do him in now, but he couldn’t  _ quite _ catch his breath, anyway.

“Obedience.”

(And, oh  _ God, _ he hated him. Sure, he’d hated him before, but this was  _ new,  _ something low and dangerous that shook his whole body from the inside out with  _ loathing. _ Throbbing like the agony beneath his skin, like his bladder persisting in its efforts to hold on. One day Elias was going to  _ pay, _ and Tim wasn’t disillusioned enough to think he’d be around long enough to see it, but if Jon ever accomplished anything in his goddamn life here in the archives, Tim prayed to all the gods he didn’t believe in that someone  _ eradicated _ their Head of the Institute.)

For now, all he could do was writhe on the spot, try to struggle against Elias’s hand pinning him while  _ not _ pressing into the one threatening him, try to  _ hold on _ when all he wanted to do was  _ let go. _

He wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of begging. He wasn’t sure if he could have managed if he’d wanted to try. But it wouldn’t matter, and he knew that, and more than a tiny part of him wanted to give in on his own accord and let it be over with as soon as possible. He couldn’t even do that, too locked up and still taunted by the damp at his trousers rubbing up against him.

The next cramp came unwarned, seizing sharp across his stomach and pulling him in every direction. Every single one and none, muscles giving in and his body warring with every part of his brain begging himself to simultaneously  _ hold on _ and  _ just let go _ at the same time. He felt it wind down along his thigh, a distinct path of searing heat that he knew Elias would  _ See, _ and felt the first damning tears fall through the mortification.

How he kept holding on, Tim didn’t really know. He was  _ wet, _ warmth turning to cold discomfort so quickly that he started to shiver from it. Or maybe it was the pain, or the urge, or– or anxiety and fear, but God, he was so… full, hadn’t begun to scratch the surface with the sporadic leaks that wouldn’t quite stop no matter how hard he tried now, stretched past his absolute limits and the confines of his bladder, a rhythmic chant of  _ let go, let go, just let go, just relax _ over and over in his head.

Maybe Elias plucked that from his brain, too. He pressed the heel of his hand into his distended stomach,  _ hard, _ and the world blinked into white for a moment.

Tim thought maybe he heard something, vaguely, himself, choking on a sob, and then sound went to white noise, and it was starbursts in his eyes. When he came back to himself, enough, it was just enough to feel his legs trembling and the rush of liquid winding down around his thighs, his knees, dripping into his socks in a matter of seconds– or had it been longer? He wasn’t sure. Denim was drenched and heavy around his dick, and he was still pissing. Couldn’t have stopped if he wanted to, and, through all of it, he… really,  _ really _ didn’t want to.

He could pretend Elias wasn’t there if he kept his eyes closed. Sure, he could still feel his hands but he put his full attention into the  _ relief, _ the throbbing pangs misfiring as more and more kept coming. It was… disgusting, but… God, good,  _ finally. _ He nearly felt lightheaded with it, and had to brace his hips back against the stall to keep himself upright.

It was, in its right,  _ probably _ the most intense wave of relief he’d ever experienced in his life.

Fuck.

He barely noticed when it stopped, because it just seemed  _ never ending, _ and his bladder was going to bitch at him for  _ ages _ now, he could already feel the sharp, stabby pains of emptiness cramping his gut. But Elias… let go of his hands, and stepped back, and that was probably… some indicator.

Tim cracked his eyes open, refused to wipe at the tears staining his cheeks, chanced a glance down at himself. As drenched as he felt, jeans two shades too dark in this shitty fluorescent lighting, and  _ Christ. _ A tiny puddle beneath his shoe, that had wound its way beneath Elias’s as well.

When Elias stepped back, there was a distinct, muffled splash. Maybe, if Elias had looked less nonplussed about it, Tim might have been proud for getting piss on his shoe. But as it was.

“You may not be up to par for your work ethic,” Elias said shortly, eyes sweeping up his body and then settling on Tim’s face. “But you are worth more to me alive than dead, Tim. In however menial of ways.” Then, he turned, and strode out, leaving wet, half-footprints in his wake.

Tim stared, and then very nearly staggered when he sprinted after him. Not to… to chase him down, or anything, but to… to lock the bathroom door. The startling realization anyone could have walked in at  _ any _ point of that was… was almost worse than the way his trousers were turning  _ cold, _ and the way he could feel piss squelching in his clothes as he moved.

Oh, Christ. So that had really just happened. Alright.

He managed to stagger over to the sinks to finally put his face in his hands, scrubbing so hard at his eyes that they hurt, too. Or maybe that was just the crying.  _ Shit. _ What the fuck was he supposed to do  _ now– _ Elias was the cause, there was no chance at pity from him, Jon was a non-starter, even if he  _ would  _ have asked him, he wouldn’t even have anything that would fit–  _ oh, _ Martin, God. Fine, fine. If he had to be further humiliated, Martin was– Christ, Martin was a good choice.  _ And _ he’d lived here before. Maybe he still had things here.

He clawed his phone out of his pocket– thank  _ God _ he’d brought it– and then just… had to sit down. Before he fell down. Before he lost it in a different kind of way that was even less preferential than two minutes ago. His legs were still shaking, so he sat. On the floor. Seeing as how he was still  _ dripping. _ Jesus.

_ “Why’re you calling me?” _ Martin greeted, and sounded wary.

Wasn’t he about to get the shock of his life. “Do you–”  _ Fuck, _ he sounded terrible. He hadn’t quite caught his breath but– had to clear his throat to try again. “D’you have clothes here still?”

_ “I… are you crying??” _

“I– no, I’m–  _ Martin.” _ Hell, what did it matter? If Martin was going to see him like  _ this, _ crying was nothing. “Do you have clothes here?” he repeated.

_ “Ummm… yeah, maybe? Probably still in doc storage, I had a box of stuff from home–” _

“Can you bring me some? Trousers,” he clarified.  _ “Please.” _

_ “Er– they’ll probably be short on you? And, I mean, it’s just joggers–” _

“That’s fine,” he interrupted.

_ “Tim, what happened?” _

“Martin,” he started, abruptly just… fucking exhausted, really. He just wanted to change and go home, but then, that nagging… thought. Elias had done this for an extended  _ lunch. _ If Tim  _ left… _ he just needed to change and shower, for certain.

_ “Okay, okay. Where are you?” _

“Staff bathroom.”

The tiny silence from the other end of the line spoke volumes. Tim squeezed his eyes shut, and didn’t want to sit here and listen to Martin put two and two together when four wasn’t  _ really _ the answer. It was four plus Elias.

_ “O… Okay, um. Okay. I’ll be right there.” _

“Thanks.”

Then it was the daunting task of going back across the bathroom, and just… waiting. Leaning his shoulders back against the wall, steadying his breathing.

It seemed like an hour before the door handle twisted, and then, softly, “Tim…?”

Well. He opened his eyes. The moment of truth. He couldn’t  _ stay _ like this. It was… chafing. “Right,” he murmured, unlocked the door, and stepped back out of the way.

Martin  _ must have _ put it together, because despite his best intentions to maybe pretend otherwise, he  _ did _ look at Tim’s soaked jeans first. Then his lips parted in surprise, and he just kind of…  _ stared. _ In something like horror, and then, awkwardness.

“What… happened…?”

“Elias,” Tim said. “Close and lock the door.”

_ “What? _ Wait–” He stepped inside and flipped the lock into position. “Wait, Tim, Elias– what did he–”

“Exerted his…  _ control,” _ Tim hissed, “over me.” God, he was so uncomfortable, and Martin’s face was going red even through the horror.

_ “What?” _

“I  _ really _ had to piss, y’know, skipped it at the pub. He… held me up. Held me down,” he clarified, rubbing at the phantom impression of Elias’s hand against his wrists.

“Wait–  _ wait, _ he did  _ what–” _

“He didn’t  _ actually _ do anything. Just… prodded a bit. Let nature takes its course,” he said sourly. “I just– I just really want to change. Shower and change.” Thank God staff had a shower here, as piss-poor as it was. 

… funny turn of phrase. Shit, he hurt all over, and was starting to feel… squiggly, the more Martin stared at him. Compassion. Pity. Which, cheers, but Tim was cold and tired and  _ unstable _ right now. He just needed to get out of these things.

“Tim, you need– Elias  _ can’t–” _

“He can,” he said. “He will. He’ll do worse things, Martin. Just– just leave it, okay? Just… just–” He gestured vaguely.

Martin stared at him for another moment, and then nodded slowly. “Yeah… yeah, okay. Go shower. I kept towels, under here– yeah, here. I’ll clean up this, too.”

“No.”

“I can do it.”

“Martin–”

“I  _ want _ to,” Martin said, all stubborn. “And I am. So you get yourself, um… try to–”

“Not be covered in piss?” he asked dryly.

Martin winced, a little. “Try to scrub the memory away, I guess. Just– Just… try to relax. I’ve got this, here, just go… go take a bit. I won’t go anywhere. Unless… unless you want me to…?”

“No,” Tim breathed. “No, it’s fine, it’s… it’s not getting worse than this, right now.” He breathed in slowly, and let it out in a rush. “I’m gonna shower. … thank you, Martin. Owe you the world.”

He smiled, just a little. An attempt at levity, probably. “I’d settle for fish and chips.”

“You can have my leftovers,” he swore. “And I’ll take you there, to the pub, too. Just… tomorrow, maybe. Not today.”

“Whenever you’re ready,” Martin agreed. “I’ll be there.”

Tim felt himself relax, minutely. This time, though, it was only completely by his own choice.

**Author's Note:**

> sorry tim you're too pretty, had to do it to you
> 
> (martin agrees, a lot. but he has the sensitivity to Not Say it even if he thinks a wet tim is a Good tim)


End file.
